


First Blood

by Macdragon



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdragon/pseuds/Macdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Threadfall, there's only one way to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pennae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennae/gifts).



 

 

“Check your straps, boys! Make sure nothing is too loose! Do you have enough firestone?” The graying Weyrlingmaster, J’kin, stalked around the gathering weyrlings, barking orders at his charges. L’ris scowled and tugged at Havorith’s straps for what felt like the millionth time. They had been practicing how to fasten the straps properly in lessons, and he could do it in his sleep. He just wanted to get off the ground. Around them, the Weyr was buzzing with activity—-the Wings gathering into formation, Healers getting ready for the rush that would begin just minutes after they left for the leading edge, and finally, the weyrlings hauling sacks of firestone onto the dragons.

“Don’t pull that face, this is important,” his friend K’tyr chided him. L’ris shook his head at the ginger Bluerider. K’tyr was weyrbred, and sometimes he acted like such a Weyrlingmaster’s pet. Of course, L’ris liked him far too much to be truly annoyed. Besides, K’tyr looked cute when he was trying to act all serious.

Feeling a blush coming on, L’ris ducked his head and pretended to fiddle with the fastening that held the firestone to Havorith’s belly. She rumbled playfully at him. L’ris could tell that she was just as excited as he was.

/Of course. We were born for this,/ Havorith said. L’ris smiled and scratched her eye ridges. It was true. From the day the ungainly green stumbled up to him on the Hatching sands, transforming him from an equally ungainly Holder boy to a weyrling, they had been training for this day.

Around him, the other weyrlings were snickering and L’ris looked up to see a short, stout woman run up to J’kin and give him a big kiss. The Weyrlingmaster pulled her close, his arm around her waist, and leaned over to whisper in her ear. L’ris glanced away, feeling like he was intruding on something.

When the woman left, J’kin crossed his arms and moved to the front of the group. “All right, boys. One minute to take off. Mount up and keep your eyes on the Weyrleader.”

L’ris climbed up onto Havorith’s back, settling into the seat and clipping himself into the safety straps. The green stretched her wings, then turned her head to look back at Elith, K’tyr’s dragon. /Elith says good luck./

L’ris smiled and waved back at K’tyr, giving him a thumbs up. It wouldn’t be long now before they could trade their first war stories. He grabbed a handful of firestone and tossed it into Havorith’s maw, and she chewed while they waited the last few moments.

The Weyrbowl was oddly silent as the Wings lifted off, one after the other, in perfect formation. They hovered for a moment, and then the Weyrleader lifted his arm. They blinked between.

“Now, boys.” J’kin lifted his own arm and, as one, the Weyrling Wing swept into the air. J’kin’s dragon, Asuth, sent them the coordinates and they disappeared into the cold dark. As always, L’ris counted to three. He’d thrown up the first time he went between, and then J’kin told him that trick to keep his bearings.

They re-appeared outside of Ruatha Hold. Below them were the precious crops they were here to protect. Above them was the silver, shimmering leading edge of Fall. L’ris’ heart flew up into his throat. He had never seen Thread this close before. J’kin had taken them to watch the fighting from a distance, but at the time the Fall had just looked like a silver cloud. Here, he could see the twisting strands, writhing around each other and dancing towards the dragons. A slight breeze caused the Thread to shift, and smaller strands flew into each other, twirling into deadlier clumps.

L’ris felt as if he might throw up again. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Everyone needed to keep an eye on the riders above them, and be ready for any spare strands that fell down to the Weyrling Wing. Bright red flame joined against silver thread, and ash rained down. L’ris ducked, jerking away from a slithering strand that had come loose from a charred clump. The dragon behind him belched flame and incinerated it.

/STONE!/ A cry from above them: the first dragon that needed firestone stock replenished. J’kin gave L’ris a nod, and they darted up to the higher Wing. He caught the rider’s eye and tossed the heavy bag across. He breathed a sigh of relief when he Brownrider caught it.

“Look out!” The man shouted, and L’ris saw another strand headed for him. This time, it was too late to dodge. It landed on his jacket. He stared in frozen horror as it began to eat through the leather. “Havorith,” he whispered, and the Green blinked between. And that blackness could never be frightening again, not now that he realized that it was a haven from Thread.

They returned to their place in the Weyrling Wing. /Asuth wants to know if we’re all right./

“We’re fine.” L’ris looked down at his arm. There was a smoldering tear in his sleeve and the skin underneath it was puckered. His mind’s eye flashed back to their Threadfall practices, when they used painted bits of rope to simulate Thread. Then, getting hit had been almost comical. One day he and K’tyr had practiced together and ended up chasing each other around with the ropes, smearing paint on each other. Now, he wasn’t looking at paint. He was looking at blood.

He swallowed back bile and forced himself to focus. More weyrlings blinked out to deliver firestone sacks, some returning unharmed, others with minor scores. A few had to return to the Weyr for the Healers. The Wings above them had turns of experience, and the injuries among the untried Weyrling wing numbered far greater. In Threadfall, there was only one way to learn, and not everyone finished the lesson.

He glanced up and saw Elith flying above them, delivering a sack of stone to another Bluerider. Then, the wind shifted. K’tyr’s head moved, and L’ris knew he had seen the clump, but it was too late. The mass of Thread hit K’tyr square in the chest. Elith screamed and vanished.

L’ris waited for the Blue to reappear behind them. When they didn’t, he thought they must have gone back to the Weyr, to the Healers. But he could sense confusion and fear from Havorith. /I can’t find Elith!/

“What—?”

Then she let out a sound he had never heard her make before, a terrible lingering cry that rose and fell in waves. The death keen. /Elith is no more./

“NO!” L’ris howled. Sorrow rose up, drowning him. The Thread above blurred into a silver blob, obscured by his tears.

/Asuth says we must keep flying,/ Havorith told him. She blinked between and reappeared beside the Blue that Elith had been delivering stone to. Feeling numb all over, L’ris tossed over one of his sacks. The older rider was completely focused on the fight, as if he hadn’t just seen a young weyrling die delivering his firestone.

It was only Havorith’s instincts that got them through the rest of the Fall. Finally, the Thread was gone, and they returned to the Weyrbowl. On Asuth’s orders, Havorith landed outside the infirmary. L’ris slumped off of her back and fell to the ground. He had almost forgotten about his own injury.

Around him, riders with far greater wounds were being treated. Friends and lovers surrounded them. He saw K’tyr’s father, himself a Bluerider, standing by his dragon and holding the Blue’s head still while a Healer treated a score on his wingsail. The man had a blank look on his face: a look L’ris had seen before. But now, he knew what was behind those empty eyes.

He was in a daze as the Healers tended to him. They directed him to the dining hall, where a warm meal was being served for the riders returning from Fall. L’ris slid onto the bench at the end of a line of weyrlings, most of them looking as shell-shocked as he was. The boy beside him squeezed his shoulder, but L’ris barely felt it. He didn’t touch the plate of food that was laid in front of him.

The Weyrwoman, Merga, stepped up from the head table and held her hand up. The dining hall gradually went quiet. “People of Benden, today we mourn for one of our weyrlings. K’tyr was a brave boy, and we’ll all remember him fondly.”

There was a smattering of applause, and she sat down again. For some reason, the Weyrwoman’s words snapped him out of his silence. L’ris jumped up and ran out of the dining hall, a sob tearing from his chest.

“It’s not fair!” he screamed to the sky, throwing his hands up. He had never felt so utterly helpless. He tried to keep running, but then there were arms around him, holding him fast.

“It’s all right, L’ris. Just let it out.” J’kin embraced him as L’ris dissolved into tears, crying on J’kin’s shoulder like a pathetic child.

“She’s right, K’tyr was so brave. But Merga doesn’t really know that. I hate seeing those gold and bronze riders up there, safe, when the Green and Blue riders are the ones leading the fall…” L’ris took a deep breath, moving back. Anger was quickly sweeping away despair.

“That’s the way of things, L’ris. We all have our role to play,” J’kin said. “K’tyr’s sacrifice is valued. Your tears are proof of that.”

L’ris clenched his fists. “I…I never got to tell him how I really felt…”

J’kin nodded. “Most riders have made that mistake, L’ris. Now you know. The weyrlings laughed when my weyrmate and I said our goodbyes, but you have to do it. Just one thing you learned today.”

“You’re saying there will be more goodbyes.”

“Of course. In fact, I think I’ll retire after this class. Time to let another man lead the boys to their first and last Fall. But you’ll pull through it, L’ris. All riders do. We persevere.”

L’ris shook his head, disbelieving. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ll learn that, too.” J’kin handed him a handkerchief. “K’tyr was weyrbred. He grew up knowing he would die in Fall. He probably didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but that was how he wanted to go. And you’ll probably go the same way, someday. Do your best to make your peace with it, like he did. For now, go back to the dining hall and have a glass of wine or three.”

L’ris took a deep breath. J’kin gave him a gentle shove back in the direction of the dining hall, and he started walking. He didn’t have any other choice; he had to keep going. Maybe someday, Thread would be gone forever. Until that day...

“Just don’t get too hungover, L’ris. We have training tomorrow.”

 


End file.
